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User blog:SirLinkalot96/The Greg Ryder Saga: Part 5: Chapter 7: My Therapy Session
OCTOBER 5th, 2009, 3:04 PM. . . . A lot of stuff has happened in the time that's passed since I beat the crap out of Charles Caldwell on the dock. Holly and I broke up in November, I got my driver's license, C-Money got a new girlfriend, I just started my senior year, and now I'm lying down on a couch in the school psychiatrist's office. The school decided to have an assembly to run some new background checks on the students because of the recent steady rise of crime in Bullworth. I was one of the lucky few who got chosen for the first background checks besides Ted, Damon, Peanut, Derby and Bif (a huge surprise with their social standing), C-Money, Michael, and Charles. Lucky me! "So, let's go over your basic information provided to me by the Academy," the school psychiatrist droned on, "Your name is Gregory Vincent Ryder. Height: 5'11. Weight: 146 pounds. Hair color: Brown. Eye color: Green. Blood Type: B+. Born on June 29th, 1992 at Shady Palms Hospital, Vice City, Florida. Biological parents' names: Vincent Thomas Ryder and Kristen Marston Ryder. Am I correct so far?" He asked. I replied calmly, "Yes." Jesus, I didn't even know my freakin' blood type! "Now let's talk about your family background. Your father grew up within an Italian foster family in Boston, Massachusetts, and was a known associate of the Italian mob, believed to be a hitman working for them. There is virtually nothing known of your father's ancestry. His father was named Thomas Ryder, a Korean War veteran with British lineage and his mother was an American barmaid who had a romantic encounter and the mother died during childbirth. The father gave up Vincent for adoption, not wanting to take the responsibility of being a father. Your mother, on the other hand, has quite a colorful background. Her earliest roots trace back to an alcoholic Scottish immigrant who was born on the boat to America. It is suspected that he died of alcohol poisoning, leaving his then eight year old son to be placed in an orphanage. This eight year old was John Marston, who grew up to become a famous ex-outlaw turned bounty hunter living in the Old American West. He was killed by the government who forced him to hunt down the remaining members of his old gang in 1911. His son, John 'Jack' Marston Jr, in 1914 avenged his father's death by killing the one responsible for his death. He became a bounty hunter, and in 1934, he got married and had an only son named James Marston, who is your late grandfather. And in 1960, your mother was born." This guy knew so much about my family and I, that it scared me a little. Even stuff that I didn't even know! It was very. . . revealing to me, in a way. "Now let's take a look at your rap sheet," He then took out a few sheets of paper and cleared his throat, "In 2004, you were arrested for grand theft auto, resisting arrest, disturbing the peace, criminal mischief, destruction of private property, and assault and battery. You were sentenced to a year in Liberty City Juvenile Detention Center, but you were granted parole halfway through your sentence for good behavior. And finally in 2006, you were arrested for breaking and entering, destruction of private property, trespassing, criminal mischief, possession of illegal substance, possession of paraphenilia, resisting arrest, destruction of government property, assault and battery on a police officer, and disturbing the peace. You were found guilty of all charges and sentenced to five years in prison, but were bailed out by your mother and stepfather. It seems that you have quite the habit of getting yourself into trouble." I replied irritably, "No shit, Sherlock. You want a shiny prize for your remarkable observation?" He ignored me and asked, "How do you feel about your parents?" I answered, "Even though I never really knew my father, the way my mom talked about him has me feel like he was a great guy who loved his family more than anything and was willing to go out to risk his neck and freedom to be able to keep our family afloat. I wish he was still alive, but what happened, happened. And there's no changing it. I love my mother with all my heart, and we've been through so much together. And that's all I have to say about that." The psychiatrist pressed, "Why did you do what you did? What I just read off your rap sheet?" I hesitated for a moment and closed my eyes. I sighed, "I don't know. When I stole my teacher's car and crashed it into the Humboldt, I was angry, and I felt like I had to show him that I'm not a little bitch who just lets people push me around, no matter who they are." "So, you stole his sports car, spit in his face, went on a high speed pursuit, and crashed it into the Humboldt. Just to prove a point? Why?" He asked with a puzzled expression on his face. I tilted my head to the left to look at him, and I said with a shit-eating grin on my face, "Because I felt like it." I then turned my head forward to continue staring at the ceiling. "Um, okay. What about your arrest in 2006? It was six months before you came to Bullworth Academy. Do you have anything to say about that?" He asked. I never really talked about that to anyone. Not even C-Money, Michael, or Charles, who are my best friends. "I was dealing drugs at the time. Weed, acid, coke, ecstasy, and 'shrooms mostly. It was easy work for easy money. My mother and stepfather had no idea, until my arrest. I personally never touched any of that shit, except for pot. So, the day I got arrested, I dealt to this guy, who held me at knife point, and he stole the coke I was supposed to sell him, my iPod, my cell phone, and my money. This is about 500 dollars he took, so I was beyond pissed. So, that night, I went to his house. He was out at a party. So I broke in, and fucking destroyed the place! I smashed the TV, broke a ton of furniture, sliced open his couch with a knife, threw his computer out the window, smashed his PlayStation to pieces, spray painted his walls, and blew up his toilet with a cherry bomb. It was awesome!" He was staring at me with his mouth open in shock and I continued my story, "I stole back my iPod, my phone, my money, but the coke he stole wasn't there. He must have taken it to the party. But I found a gram of weed and a pipe in his room, so I took that, just to compensate for my troubles. But, a neighbor must have called the cops on me, because I saw two cops get out of their squad car and shine a flashlight into the window where I was standing at. They saw me and they ran into the house. I booked it out of the room and when I got to the stairs, one of the cops were standing at the bottom of the stairwell and were coming back up. I jumped out a window and landed on his front lawn. But when I looked up, the other cop was waiting there for me. I was cuffed and I put up a struggle. I headbutted one of the cops in the chest and tried to run. But I was grabbed by the other one, and slammed over the hood of the patrol car. I kicked off one of the side mirrors on their car and told them to go fuck themselves. So they added obstruction of justice to my reports. They searched me and found the gram of weed, and the pipe, and confiscated it. Yeah, I was stupid, and I know it. I don't need to be told that again." I finished my story and felt like I just had a weight lifted off my chest. I felt better after talking about it. "Okay, your time's up. You can go now." He said without looking up from his notepad. I got off the couch and walked out of the office, reflecting on everything that was said in there, and left me really thinking how it was no wonder I was sent to Bullworth Academy. It felt more like a therapy session rather than a background check. Charles was sitting in a chair with C-Money, waiting for their turns to talk to the school psychiatrist. Charles looked up and asked, "So, how'd it go?" I informed him, "Well, for some fucking reason, they have the school psychiatrist doing it. I have no idea why. But they didn't find out anything they already know." Michael then emerges from the other office and says jokingly, "You're up, Caldwell. Hope you don't have a weak stomach." Charles gets out of his seat and walks into the office and he shut the door behind him. I sat down in his seat and Michael sat in the chair next to me. "So, what did they talk to you about?" Michael asked me. I replied with a sigh, "Nothing they didn't know already. How 'bout you?" Michael stretched his arms and yawned, "They did the same with me." After about five minutes, we heard a large commotion and what sounded like Charles yelling coming from the office he was in. It sounded like a fight! I jumped out of my seat and pounded the door with my fist, "What the hell's going on in there?!" I demanded. I kicked the door open and saw Charles beating the living shit out of the psychiatrist! The guy was missing teeth, blood was everywhere, and Charles was wielding a pen like a knife, which I then realized he was stabbing the guy with it! I kick the pen out of Charles' hand and Michael and I both grab Charles arms and attempt to restrain him. The psychiatrist pushes us out of the office and into the hallway, making us lose our grip on Charles. The psychiatrist throws a punch at Charles, but with no success. Charles easily dodges it and smashes the guy's head into a nearby locker. God damn, that's one helluva beating! Michael and I grab Charles by the arms again, but with a lot more force, and Charles starts flailing about, trying to break free of our grasp. "Dude, calm the fuck down! Get off him!" I yelled angrily. Charles starts kicking his legs about and screams, "LET ME THE FUCK GO! I'M GOING TO KILL THIS BASTARD FOR WHAT HE SAID!" C-Money, who was watching in shock from the doorway of the office, grabs Charles and keeps him from flailing about, saying, "It's not worth it! Don't do it!" "Yeah it is! This motherfucker crossed the line!" Charles growls. Dr. Crabblesnitch then comes sprinting toward us and splutters with a horrified look on his face, "What the hell happened?! Caldwell! What have you done?!" "This motherfucker crossed the line! He started making fun of me and started to judge me about my personal life! I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" Charles screams hoarsely. Christy, who is watching the whole incident, chimes in, "This is sooo going on Facebook. And I'm telling everyone around here." Charles then brings his attention to her, "I don't give a fuck anymore, Christy! I'm more focused on this prick than you and your fucking gossip!" That quickly put her in her place, and she stayed quiet. This shit had to stop. I started thinking that I was going to have to kick his ass again, and I was about to. Michael was thinking the same thing, because he grabbed Charles and slammed him into the lockers and put his forearm across his throat, choking Charles, "Calm the fuck down, before I make you calm the fuck down!" Michael says in a serious tone. Charles then says while gasping for air, "Okay, dude. I'm calm. Just let me leave. I need to leave." Michael lets Charles go and Charles runs out of the building. I then run over to the psychiatrist, who was lying on the ground, looking like he was going to pass out. I kneeled down beside him and slapped his face several times, "Hey, don't go to sleep on me, man! Stay with me!" I said worriedly. I ordered, "Michael, go get the nurse and bring her here! C-Money, call an ambulance! He needs a doctor! Now!" I have no idea why I was helping him. I guess because I felt bad, and he didn't deserve to get beaten this badly over something so stupid, although I've seen shit like this happen hundreds of times over something like this. But this was different for some reason. I don't know why, but it just did. I stayed with him, until the nurse arrived to give him attention. Michael put his arm around his girlfriend Nicole, comforting her, as she was in tears. C-Money just stood against the wall, watching everything unfold before him, barely blinking. I walked out of the building and walked to the dorm. Words cannot describe how stressed I am after what just happened. I went into my room, locked the door behind me. I took my bag of weed, pipe, and lighter out from under my mattress. I tampered with the fire alarm in our room so I could smoke in here. I took a Sprunk soda out of the minifridge, laid down on my bed, and turned on the TV. I packed the pipe with some weed, lit it, inhaled, held in the smoke, and exhaled it. After taking a few more hits, I was completely relaxed, and felt much better. Perfect ending to a shitty day, in my opinion. . . Category:Blog posts